The Seeping Tomato
by Miss Akiyata
Summary: Romano just wants to be accepted for who he is, but that's pretty hard for someone that hates feeling worthless. Struggling to get along with the other countries, as well as himself, Romano must decide whether to keep hiding his pain from the others or to just end it all himself. Rated M for Romano's language & (eventually) suicidal attempts. (May contain graphic details).
1. Prussia's Party

**I couldn't find many Romano fanfics that weren't pairing-based, so I decided to make one! I'm never good at starting stories, but I hope you stick around for when it really starts to pick up (hopefully it does). ****And fair warning:**** This story is about Romano and how he thinks of himself. There will be a lot of "suffering" and "self-hate" in here and eventually suicidal attempt(s). But there will be some good times too. I just want to show that he is really bothered by things & has a hard time coping with them & I want to show that he does have people who care, even if he doesn't know it. **

**Hope you like it. Enjoy~!**

* * *

When he was younger, Romano would talk to himself about his problems. He never had friends because the other countries didn't seem to like him very much. He was lazy, rude, and couldn't do anything right. Except act mean, that is. He was always quite exceptional at that, even when he wasn't actually angry.

Ever since the day he thanked Spain for taking care of him, Romano felt much less alone and would actually help around every once in a while. However, they eventually went their separate ways. The South Italian had grown and moved back to Italy, where he could slack off for himself. Everything was going well for a while. He didn't feel that painful worthlessness anymore….at least, he didn't think so.

* * *

"Nii-chan~!" called the mellow cheerful North Italian. "You coming to Prussia's party? He said it's gonna be awesooome~!" He smiled blissfully at his brother, who seemed to be quite irritated by the invitation.

Romano sighed. "That German isn't awesome at all. Damn potato bastard." He tsked. Lifting himself from the table they were sitting at, he lazily made his way to the fridge across the kitchen. Crouching, he peered inside and stared blankly for a minute or so before finally deciding that food was a priority, and there wasn't much there to eat. "Fine."

"Ve~?" the younger tilted his head with a vague smile of confusion.

"I'll go to the damn bastard's party. But only for the food. Then I'm leaving."

Ve~!" his brother shouted with joy and grabbed his hand to lead him out the door.

* * *

As the irritated Italian predicted, the party wasn't very awesome. The food sucked; nothing with tomatoes and a bunch of crap with potatoes. The music sucked because it was karaoke, and damn Prussia wouldn't get off the stage. And of course, Romano was surrounded by people that irritated the hell out of him. Not that anyone doesn't irritate him.

Romano wondered why his brother had wanted him to come. All Veneziano did was follow Germany around and talk to Japan and all those other countries that Romano didn't exactly associate with. Spain wasn't there either because of work. It really was boring. Unawesome. And kind of lonely…

He was left there alone at a table near the food, where he and his brother had initially seated themselves. Veneziano had left almost as soon as they got there to find his friends and hadn't come back since. North Italy was always an airhead, never noticing when he did things. Romano wished he could be like that too; always happy and surrounded by others that enjoyed having him around. He was too temperamental to be like that. But then….he never really tried to get along with the others the way his brother did. "Maybe I should," he thought to himself while staring off at Veneziano laughing with his friends.

He didn't even remember why he hated Germany so much. Watching them from afar, the guy actually seemed pretty nice. Romano shook his head at his thoughts. "No. Germans are nothing but bastards," he stated aloud. Looking up, he found that Veneziano was now leaning across the table, smiling like an airhead just inches from his face. Romano's expression was slightly confused, if not creeped out.

"Come join us, nii-chan~! It'll be fun!"

He stared at his perky younger brother for a moment with an expression of 'Are you kidding me?' before letting out an irritated sigh and lifting himself from the table. "Fine. But not because I want to."

Once again, Veneziano grabbed his sleeve and dragged him over to the other countries, where they were greeted with surprised stares. They really hadn't expected Romano to come over. Then again, they didn't expect him to come to the party to begin with.

The South Italian refused to make eye contact with the other countries, especially Germany. It was silent for the first few minutes, but France broke the awkward atmosphere by offering Romano a glass of wine, which he gladly accepted. With his first sip, France clang to him and declared that he knew all along that he would eventually come to him, resulting in a shouting Italian with a face red as a tomato.

The party heated up from there. Everyone joined in on singing _"Wa Wa World"_ and drinking together. To his surprise, Romano was actually enjoying it, though he didn't sing along with them. This was the first time he had seen these countries so close to each other and having fun despite their differences. Maybe he could fit in after all.

France kept pouring more wine into his glass. England was running around the stage in his underwear, singing about some fairies and spells or something. The bastard Prussia was going on about how awesome he was to the group of drunk countries sitting around the table. He still hadn't noticed Romano sitting with them. And of course, Italy was drunk as hell and dancing around after girls.

The world was spinning, and his sight was blurred. He had never drank this much around so many other countries before. The noise was confusing him, and he was getting tired. On the other hand, he felt this strange urge to join in on the fun. Before he could even realize what was happening, his younger brother pulled him onto the stage and asked him to sing_ "Mawaru Chikyuu Rondo."_

"Hmph! If it's rondo you say, then it'll be a breeze! Just watch, you bastard!" Romano declared quite happily. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared in utter disbelief as they realized that it was Romano on stage, singing more cheerfully than ever. A little more than half way through the song, the Italy everyone knew as "Italy" decided to join in, and it became a very cheerful duet.

When the song ended, everyone paused for a moment to think if what they just witnessed was real. Everyone stared at each other in disbelief and then finally cheered and clapped. They even declared another song, which Romano actually agreed to. He was too wasted to think in his usual train of thought. And so, he began singing the _"Delicious Tomato Song"_ and then _"Nah, It'll Settle Itself Somehow"_ after that. It was shocking to everyone that all of his songs were so cheerful. They really expected him to be more….hateful? Irritated? In any case, they were seeing Romano like they never had before.

"Ah, alcohol does bring out the true self," France stated to no one in particular.

* * *

Romano felt good about himself for what was probably the first time ever. Everyone had been praising him for his singing talent and telling him that he should smile more because his smile was so rare and beautiful (according to France) and made everyone else happy just to see it.

He would probably forget this whole night by morning though.

Sitting in his original location, Romano crossed his arms on the table and layed his head down. His stomach was unsettled, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. His brain felt like it was hammering against his skull.

"You think you're awesome?"

Romano's head tilted up just enough for his eyes to peek out at the source of the voice he'd heard. He was too tired to react or really even think much about the red-eyed German in front of him.

"I. Said. Do you think you're awesome?" Prussia stood, leaning forward, with his hands on his hips. It kind of reminded Romano of one of those bitchy high school cheerleaders. He didn't reply but kept staring blankly at the German before tilting his head back into his folded arms.

Being ignored really pissed Prussia off. If there was one thing he liked, it was attention, and when he didn't get his way…he would take down his enemies through vicious insult. And that's exactly what he did.

"You think everyone likes you now? Hah! They're only treating you nice 'cos of your brother!" Prussia straightened himself up and crossed his arms in front of his chest, nose up in the air. "You're just a knock-off Italy. If you wanna be awesome like me, then stop pretending to be a country, you dumb Italian. Haha! You're so lame!"

Romano tilted his head up once more, this time with a mixed glare of hatred and something else. "I'm not trying to be my brother, you damn potato bastard."

"Oh?" Prussia leaned in, placing his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. He smiled down at Romano with the joyful thoughts of insulting the Italian more. "Hehe," he smirked. "Same insult as always. Bet you're too lazy to come up with another. Hah! You can't do anything right 'cos you're nothin' but a lame wanna-be."

Why did Prussia have to be so damn persistent? Romano sat up more straight and glared into the German's eyes, gritting his teeth with anger. This is why he hated damn Germans.

"Oh, look! I made the little wanna-be mad! Hahaha! You're so la-," his sentence was caught off by the Italian hands that were now gripping his throat. Prussia lashed out at his attacker and grabbed hold of the only thing he could leaning across the table; that swirly strand of hair that sprouted from the Italian's head.

Romano freaked and really started to attack Prussia. He didn't even care that his headache was hurting like hell. No one touches that piece of hair. And so he practically roared and flipped Prussia over his shoulder and onto the food table, which snapped from the force and sent food up into the air. The sudden noise caught the attention of all the other countries, who were completely oblivious to what was happening. Romano stepped forward to proceed with beating the German but was stopped when a strong hand firmly gripped his arm. He turned and saw the other German staring angrily yet calmly at him. Romano's face was red from both anger and alcohol, and it was clear that he would not be calming down any time soon.

Covered in assortments of food, Prussia raised himself from between the two halves of the now split table. "West! Get this stupid jerk out of my party!" he shouted to his younger yet much larger brother.

Germany looked from his messy brother to the angry Italian with a look of slight guilt or even sadness. "Sorry, Romano." After a short pause of staring angrily into Germany's eyes, the Italian whipped his arm out of the strong grip and then shifted his glare from one country to the next. All of them seemed a bit disappointed with exception of the deviously smiling Prussia.

Romano's gaze lingered on his brother for a moment. Then he let out a slightly irritated breath and turned to walk towards the door.

"Nii-cha-" Italy sprang forward but was stopped in his tracks when the less-known Italy shouted "SHUT UP!" at the top of his lungs. There was a long silence. The angry South Italian tsked and continued on. Veneziano had never been shouted at like that. Not from his brother and not with so much hate…he began to cry. And before he could say anything, Romano was gone.

* * *

**Well, that's it for this chapter! Sorry if it was a bit slow or boring. I suck at starting stories _ Nonetheless, I do hope you enjoyed it~! **


	2. Rising Illness

**Now we're starting to see a bit more into Romano's mindset. Poor guy. Hope you like it.**

** Enjoy~!**

* * *

Romano was making his way home at night. And of course, it had to be raining. His mind was still jumbled, though his sight was a bit less blurred now that he was out of that noisy environment. All he could hear now was the rain and Prussia's insults replaying in his mind.

_"You can't do anything right 'cos you're nothin' but a lame wanna-be."_

That one phrase would not leave his mind. Knock-off Italy...pretending to be a country….maybe it was true. Romano never helped out much, and nobody ever referred to him as Italy or to his brother as Veneziano. It was always Italy and Romano. "Damn...maybe they did only treat me nice because of my brother. My _younger_ brother. Why is it that I can exist as the first Italy, yet I am never 'Italy' to the other countries? Even Grandpa Rome had liked Veneziano better."

Romano finally made it home after who knows how long. He hadn't even realized by that time that he was completely drenched from the down pouring rain. He trudged up toward his house and stopped about ten feet from the stairs that lead to the door. Looking up at the light stone building, he was bombarded by memories of living with his grandfather. It was always fun back then, and Romano found it easy to smile and laugh. He could picture his chibi self sitting on Grandpa Rome's lap, listening to the stories he had to tell, truly enjoying the attention. He had felt the love of his grandfather...up until Veneziano was born. The love was naturally switched to the youngest in the family.

Romano looked down from his house and then traveled up the stairs, where he paused again and looked over to the other side of the balcony. He remembered..._Chibiromano had finished a painting as a gift for his grandfather, and he felt very proud of it. He ran outside carrying the painting above his head and stopped in his tracks_ (In the very place Romano was standing now). _There was little Veneziano sitting on Grandpa Rome's lap, painting an amazingly realistic landscape of the view from the balcony. His grandfather was praising him delightfully and had not even noticed little Romano standing by the doorway with a hurt expression and teary eyes. _Romano remembered running back inside and smashing his painting to bits while shouting,_ "Feli, you bastard!"_ with streams of tears running down his chubby face.

He shook the memory out of his head and continued on to unlock the front door. Inside, it was dark and extremely quiet. He closed the door behind him, kicked his shoes off, and threw his wet coat on the floor. It didn't take long to get into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and became disappointed as he realized that he hadn't found anything good that morning either. His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten anything all day.

A sudden shiver of cold air went over him. He looked up at the kitchen window, which seemed to be weeping from the rain. Standing up, he glanced out at the small, muddy tomato garden. The harsh rain had pushed some of the plants over, leaving the tomatoes lying in the mud. Romano twisted the handle of the back door, unlocking it in the process, and ran out to his precious fruit. His socks and ankles immediately became dark and wet as they sank into the mud. He plucked the fallen tomatoes from their trees and gathered them in his shirt, which he folded up over his stomach. How could he forget to cover his precious tomatoes?

Romano was out there for a good ten or fifteen minutes, kneeling in the mud to gather his food. His hair fell in front of his eyes and stuck to his face in various directions. His drenched clothes were heavy and clung to his body. After stuffing as many as he could into his shirt, Romano ran and stumbled through the thick mud back to his house. As soon as he got the door open, he stumbled to the floor, tomatoes rolling across the kitchen. He crawled forward and closed the door behind him, then gathered up his tomatoes again and tossed them in the sink, where he turned on the faucet to rinse them. He placed his elbows on the edge of the counter and his hands behind his head, gripping his wet hair. He was sucking in sharp breaths and sobbing, interrupted by some very harsh coughs.

_"I can't do anything right."_

* * *

Italy was fairly upset that his brother had screamed at him like that. Of course, he was used to being yelled at but not with so much hate. Germany tried to comfort him but wasn't all too sure what to say. He didn't exactly know how this whole ordeal had happened in the first place, and of course, he could never get anything truthful out of Prussia.

"Italy, listen..." he began but still wasn't sure what to say. "Your brother is fine. This stuff happens all the time with him. It was bound to happen."

The tearful Italian looked up at his friend with a not-so-comforted expression. "Ve...but Lovi was never so angry. I don't want nii-chan to hate me," he sobbed.

"Maybe you should go home and talk to him. I'll come with you if you w-"

"I can go myself. Lovi doesn't like you much, Germany. I don't know why." He stood up and walked to the door, opening it wide and staring for a moment with that stupid smile of his and a single tear in his eye. He closed it right away, and was glomping his German friend a moment later declaring, "Come with me, Germany~! It's too dark and scary out there! Germany, come with me~!"

And so, the host's brother left the party to walk the frightened Italian back home. Everyone else decided to leave as well. Ever since Romano left, they all sat there and listened to his brother cry. It wasn't much of a party anymore, and everyone was a bit irritated by Prussia now, who kept going on about how lame the South Italian was.

* * *

Italy made it home at last, where he said goodbye to his German friend before entering the house. He didn't seem to notice the drenched coat on the floor by the entrance as he immediately threw down his own blue coat and umbrella and kicked off his shoes, heading toward the kitchen. As he went to open the fridge, Italy slipped and fell on his butt with a quick "Ve!" shout of surprise.

Looking around, the North Italian could see that the floor was drenched in a dark and slippery substance. He carefully got up looked around the kitchen cluelessly. In the sink, he found many wet tomatoes. The edge of the counter in front of the sink also had a good bit of the slippery substance on it. Curiously, Italy swiped his finger to gather some of it and held it up to his face, staring cross-eyed in the dark.

_*Plop*_ He stuck the finger in his mouth to taste, thinking it might be tomato juice. His face immediately contorted, and he coughed up the salty, disgusting substance. It certainly was no tomato juice.

"Ve?" He looked down at the dark smears and footprints on the kitchen floor. "How did this mud get in here?" His clueless gaze followed the footprints from the sink and into the hallway. Walking over, he followed them into the bathroom, where he found drenched clothes lying in the laundry basket beside the shower. Romano must have rinsed the mud off here because the footprints did not lead out of the bathroom.

Italy cleaned the mud from all of the floors and sinks and then took a quick shower himself. With a fresh pair of pasta pajamas on, he made his way down the hall. Because his room was at the end, he would have to walk by his brother's bedroom, which was usually left open a crack by habit because Italy would so-often want to sleep with him.

Forgetting what happened at the party and why he had come home, Italy immediately headed toward his brother's door, where he paused just before pushing it open. So very quietly, he could hear unsteady breathing and sniffling, followed by a very harsh round of coughing. Was Romano crying?

"Lovi..." he said as softly as he could.

Romano must have heard him because he shifted a bit and paused a while before stating "Leave me alone, Feli. I don't want to talk."

Veneziano frowned. His brother had meant to sound irritated (as he usually did), but it came out more sad than anything. "Nii-chan, you can talk to me if you li-," he caught off when his older brother began coughing very violently.

Romano curled in on himself in pain. His head was pounding. His stomach felt like it was tumbling. His throat scratched. His muscles ached. His eyes were dry...and above all, his heart felt constricted. With every cough, he could feel his chest tighten painfully.

"Nii-chan!" North Italy ran over to his brother, who was crumpled up under his bed sheets. "Nii-chan, are you oka-" He noticed that Romano was breathing very sharply and contorting his face in pain. His brother's legs were pulled to his chest, his hands gripping the fabric on his chest. He was shaking violently, and his reddened face had tears streaming down it. "Lovi!" Veneziano cried and went to check the temperature of his head.

Roman was burning up, but his body was ice cold. He was clearly in a lot of pain, buy Italy had no idea what to do. It was usually him that got sick, while either Germany or Romano took care of him. He wasn't sure what to do, so he ran to his room to grab all of his own blankets to throw on top of his sick brother. He then searched through the cabinets in the bathroom and kitchen for whatever medicine they had. He couldn't find any.

Then, he remembered what Spain had told him the day that Romano moved back to Italy. _"Just call me if you ever need help with him."_ he had joked. And so, Veneziano ran to the phone and quickly dialed the number.

* * *

_*ring - ring_* Spain rolled over in his bed to see who was calling him so late at night. _*ring*_ As his eyes adjusted to the bright light from his cellphone, he perked up when he saw the words _"Romano and Italy,"_ though they were both technically Italy. He picked up the phone immediately and greeted the caller happily in Spanish.

"Ve~?" (North Italy doesn't know Spanish.)

"Eh? Italy?" Spain was a bit surprised to hear the other Italian on the line. "What is it? Did you dial the wrong number?"

"Oh, Spain, it's terrible!" Italy shouted suddenly.

"Eh-?"

"It's Lovino! Something's wrong! Veeeee~~!" he started crying.

Spain's eyes widened in horror. How bad must it be for North Italy to call him in the middle of the night? "Italy? What happened?! What's wrong?"

Italy continued sobbing through the phone.

"Hold on. I'll be over quickly." He pressed _END_ and rolled out of bed to get dressed.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter ^_^ I'm trying to move the story around a bit so it can focus on some of the other characters (such as North Italy) too. I'm just coming up with most of this as I go, so I hope it's interesting enough for you to continue reading~! **


	3. Remembering the Night

**Sorry if this one moves a bit more slow than the others. Not all that much happens in this one...pretty much just thoughts in their heads. haha And sorry if Romano seems a bit too crybaby-ish at first. XD**

**Hope you enjoy anyway~!**

* * *

Romano could faintly feel the touch of his brother as he curled up in pain. Heavy blankets were thrown on top of him, and he could then hear Veneziano run out of the room again, sobbing to himself and panicking.

He didn't want to cause worry, but he just couldn't stop crying. Sure, he was sick and in a lot of pain…but that wasn't the cause of his tears.

It was his chest. There was a strange feeling there; familiar yet more powerful than ever. It felt hollow yet filled with fire at the same time. It was a tight, crushing pain…and Romano hated the emptiness of it.

But why was he crying, damn it? Of course he had cried in front of his brother before but only over stupid little things. He had never _really_ cried. But he couldn't stop, damn it…the tears just wouldn't stop rolling down his face.

The pillow was wet and gross against his face. He was sobbing noisily and gasping for air, trying to hold back tears as he rolled onto his back and lifted an arm across his crying eyes. Veneziano peeked in through the doorway with a sad and guilty expression, watching Romano try to calm himself to almost no avail.

"Nii-chan…" Italy's voice faded off, and he awkwardly walked in towards the bed.

Romano finally seemed to calm his sobbing. His breaths were deep and unsteady, and his face was beat red, but he had finally managed to stop the tears.

"Don't worry, Romano. Big brother Spain will be here to help soon," the North Italian tried to reassure his brother.

Romano paused his deep panting and seemed to stop breathing altogether. "What?" he asked very sternly.

"W-well," Italy flustered. "U-um...it's just. Lovi was in pain, so I-"

"I DIDN'T ASK FOR YOU TO CALL HIM, YOU BASTARD!"

Veneziano jumped at his brother's shouting. They both paused, and Italy just stared at his brother, not knowing what to say. After a moment of silence, Romano let out one rough sob and gritted his teeth to keep himself from crying aloud...but it didn't stop the tears from flooding down his face and soaking the sleeve of his pajamas.

"Ah," Italy gasped lightly. Why was Romano crying now? Veneziano felt very sad to see his brother like this. He had seen his other half cry over stupid things before but never anything like this. Romano was hurting, and Italy didn't know why. Was he sick? Italy had no idea what was going on with his brother because he never really talked to him about anything. Other than trying to convince him that Germany was a actually a really nice guy, Italy had never had a very deep conversation with his brother. The North Italian's thoughts were cut off by his brother's sudden, sharp coughing.

Romano tried to cover his mouth with one hand while tightly gripping the fabric of his chest with the other. The coughs were rough and painful, and they didn't seem to want to stop any time soon. It was hard to breathe. Damn it, he couldn't breathe...

Finally, after more than a minute of harsh coughing, Romano layed back into his still-wet pillow and took a deep, calming breath. Forgetting that his younger brother was still standing there, his breaths became steady, and he drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Spain ran to the front door of the house in Italy, barging in without knocking. He stopped after swinging the door open and was panting wildly, looking around for either of the Italy's.

"Big brother Spain!" North Italy said with a smile as he rounded the corner of the hallway.

"Feli," the Spaniard said with slight urgency and placed his hands on the Italian's shoulders, his pants beginning to calm into steady breaths. "Where is Romano?"

"Ve~" he said with a tilt of his head. "Lovi is sleeping in the other ro-" Italy cut off in surprise as Antonio pushed him aside and practically ran into the hallway. "Ve~?" He walked back around the corner of the hallway curiously to see Spain standing in the doorway of Romano's bedroom, staring in at him.

"Italy," he began, turning his head to look into the eyes of the approaching Italian. "Why did you sound so worried? He's just sleeping, isn't he?"

Italy rubbed the back of his head and looked at the floor shyly. "Ve...he is now."

"Eh?" Spain furrowed his eyebrows. What was going on? It was all so very confusing...not that he really understood much of anything to begin with. "Feli, you'll have to explain to me what exactly was going on. You still seem a bit worried."

Glancing up at him, Italy brushed by and into the doorway. Waltzing over to the bed, he knelt down beside his sleeping brother. Spain was totally lost, so he simply followed and leaned down to look at Romano more closely, since it was kind of hard to see in the dark. Upon closer examination, it was clear to Spain that his little Roma had been crying. The Italian's eyes were puffed, and his face was still flushed and had dry tears running down his cheeks.

Spain's eyebrows furrowed again, and his mouth formed into an open frown. "Feli, was he crying?" He did not look away from the sleeping Italian when he said this, his eyes large and watery with sadness for what he didn't know.

Italy nodded, and he began to cry himself, quietly at first. He bit his lip to hold back the wails, but that didn't stop them from coming.

Spain jumped and turned when Italy suddenly started crying aloud. It was safe to say that he was completely surprised by the Italian's action. "Eh-?! I-Italy! What's wrong? Sh-shh! It's alright. Just be quiet, or you'll wake-" Hearing a shift in the bed behind him, Spain immediately stopped talking and whipped his head around in fear that he had awakened the sleeping Italian.

* * *

Romano shifted in his sleep. He had been sleeping so well for what felt like days, though it really had only been a few hours. His mind snapped awake front the sound of sharp wailing and raised voices. Though it was a bit blurred at first, the loud noises were giving him a headache as result of all the alcohol he had consumed the night before.

_"Sh-shh! It's alright. Just be quiet, or you'll wake-"_ was all of the conversation the South Italian had heard. It was followed by a brief silence, in which the only thing he could hear was his own shifting and a faint sniffling. He also came to realize that it was insanely hot in his room. Was the AC even on?

His eyes slid open slowly. Though he had slept well, his eyes felt heavy and puffy for some reason. He squinted his eyes at the dark ceiling, trying to remember how he had gotten there and what had happened the night before. He lifted his arm and slumped it over his forehead to block the light from the hallway, sighing exhaustingly.

"Romano..." a familiar, soft voice called quietly, though it sounded much louder due to his slight hangover. He couldn't quite connect the voice in his mind.

"Romano," the voice spoke again more loudly with worry.

The South Italian pulled his arm up more and tilted his head toward the door, squinting to let his eyes adjust to the light. A dark figure stood bent over beside him, but it was difficult to see the figure's face due to the shadow cast over it from the hallway light. Beside the figure, he noticed, was his crouching brother. He could tell by the outlined shadow of that swirling strand of hair. But then who was this other man? Romano focused his eyes on the figure in front of him, trying to pull the face out of the darkness.

"Roma?" spoke the voice of the figure once more.

Damn it. Romano tsked and frowned angrily, flipping over to face away from the two beside his bed. Spain. What was that damn bastard doing in his room while he was trying to sleep? He wouldn't have been surprised to find that French creep standing there, but it was just plain weird that the Spaniard would come all the way to his house just to stare at him while he slept. And damn it, why did his head hurt so much? Why was every little noise so piercingly loud?

Romano clamped one eye shut and squinted with the other. He flinched with every noise he heard and every word spoken to him.

"Eh? Romano-"

"GET THE FUCK OUT, YOU CREEPY BASTARD!" Romano shouted, immediately regretting it because the pain in his head became almost unbearable. "Gah-!" he shouted in pain and grabbed his throbbing head with both hands, curling in on himself once again.

"Romano!" Spain shouted with worry and jumped forward. Beside him, Italy had stopped his crying and stood up slowly to get closer to his brother. "Italy," Spain panicked and looked at the younger Italian. "D-Do you know what's wrong with him?!"

"Ah." Italy stared at his crumpled brother, seeming to have come to a realization or something. "That's right."

"Eh? What's right?" Spain looked at the mellow Italian with partial curiosity and partial worry. "Italy?"

"Lovi drank a lot at Prussia's party last night."

"Party? Prussia's party?!" Antonio whipped his head back toward Romano, who had seemed to be in a bit less pain now, though he still held his head in that curled up position. "Romano, you went to a party? A German party?"

Romano paused. "I did?" he asked, confused.

"Ve~" Italy answered with a cheerful tone. "Don't you remember, nii-chan? You had a lot of fun. We sang and drank with the others~! You got along pretty well until the end."

"Eh?!" and "WHAT?!" shouted Spain and Romano in unison.

* * *

"He-he. I flipped him into a table, huh? Damn bastard probably deserved it," Romano remarked after listening to the happenings of the night before.

"Yeah~! But then everyone was sad because you had to leave, Lovi."

"Sad? Really?" Romano thought to himself. He found that hard to believe."Well," he said. "I imagine that creepy bastard, France, might have been. But the others sure as hell wouldn't care."

"Oh, but Romano! You guys were getting along so well~!"

"Ahh, come ooonnn!" he dragged out. "You seriously expect me to believe that crap, Feli?"

"But it's true, Lovi! France got you so drunk that you just couldn't help but have a little fun. Ve~"

Romano's temple was visibly twitching now. "So the French bastard was behind this, eh? I should've known."

Romano and Veneziano continued on arguing about what had happened at the party. Truthfully, Romano remembered it all after his brother refreshed him on the matter. But he did not want to give in to the fact that he _could_ actually get along with the other countries, and he certainly didn't want to admit (in front of Spain) that he could actually smile and have fun. That, and he wanted to avoid the subject of why he had been crying. So Romano kept avoiding the truth and pretended to be his usual self.

Spain sat, trying to piece together the two brothers' stories, with a very confused expression. The three of them had moved out into the kitchen and sat at the table. If Spain had seen the muddy mess from the night before, he certainly would have been worried for his little Italian. Luckily for Romano, Veneziano was always good at cleaning up messes.

* * *

The day seemed rather normal and bright from Spain's point of view. Italy was his mellow self, and Romano was feisty as usual. But something still seemed off to Spain.

It was as if Romano just kept denying everything Italy told him, though he also kept saying that he didn't remember anything himself. It was like he was avoiding something...maybe he didn't want to be able to get along with the other countries? But that didn't seem right...why wouldn't he want to get along if he found out that he could be a lot happier with friends? It didn't make any sense. If what Italy said was true, then Romano _really did_ become friends with the other countries at that party. And he _really did_ enjoy himself. Especially if he was comfortable enough to sing in front of them. Just the thought of Romano singing shocked Spain.

So then...why was Romano so persistent with the idea of not getting along with anyone? It was almost as if he wanted them to hate him. Spain was one of the very few countries to have ever seen the South Italian's more _caring_ side. But even in the moments that Romano _did_ show that caring side of his, the Italian still pretended to be angry and hateful. But why? When he was younger, it seemed that he was just shy to have someone witness his "weaker" side or to have anyone see that he actually cared about more than himself. But right now...to Spain...it seemed as if Romano was acting angry to hide something...

Spain sighed. He was so deep in thought that he had completely missed the argument between the two brothers. He rested his elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand, and he just smiled at Romano, who was still yelling at his brother. Spain's eyes were both happy and sad; happy to see his feisty Italian...but saddened by the thought that Romano might be secretly hurting inside...

Antonio's deep thoughts were caught off when he realized that Romano's shouting had become directed toward him. He widened his eyes and lifted his face away from his upraised hand, staring back at the flushed Italian in slight surprise. He was caught staring with a creepy face (according to Romano).

"Ah-" the Spaniard smiled again. "Sorry." He paused and tilted his head and closing his eyes, smile spreading into a large grin. "Roma is just so cute when he's angry~!"

And thus, Spain decided to push his worries out of his mind and continued on enjoying the day with his feisty little Italian.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter~! .w. Thanks for reading. I don't have this planned out at all, so I do hope that it stays interesting for you. c: **


	4. Robbery

**I'm really starting to get into this now! haha I even have the next chapter (mostly) planned because it will reveal a lot about what happened in this chapter.**

**Hope you guys enjoy~! And thank you for reading this far .w.**

* * *

"What the fuck," Romano blurted loudly in irritation to no one in particular.

It had been just over two weeks since Prussia's party. Everything seemed to be going perfectly normal since then; as if nothing had ever happened. Italy (that is to say, Veneziano) was back to his cheery, social self, hanging around the other countries. Every day, he would leave Romano to sit at home while he'd go over to Germany's place. Some days (many, actually), Veneziano wouldn't bother returning home.

His brother had been gone for a few days now, and Romano found himself waking up to find that his house was trashed. He knew it couldn't have been his brother returning home in the middle of the night because the wimp was too scared to travel in the dark. Besides, he'd have been up by now and would have cleaned this mess the moment he'd see it.

So for someone that didn't like cleaning or dealing with anything really, the South Italian was quite irritated to find that his house had been robbed while he was sleeping.

"Damn it!" he shouted in irritation.

Stomping around various rooms, Romano frantically checked to make sure nothing too important was damaged or missing. At least, not that he could think of. The bedrooms...the living room...kitchen...basement...and finally, the attic. Everything was a mess, simply thrown elsewhere or knocked over, but he didn't really notice anything too damaged or missin-

His pacing around the attic stopped, along with his heart, when he saw that the stack of his old childhood paintings were scattered about the floor, along with many other old memories. None seemed to be missing, but...where were Veneziano's paintings? Gone. Every last one of them was gone.

Romano knew that his brother would be upset about this. All of those paintings he did for Grandpa Rome...just gone. Because Romano was too damn stupid to realize that someone was in their house that night. But wait. _Would_ his brother be mad? Did Veneziano even _get_ mad? No...he'd probably just cry. He'd just cry because every one of his naturally-easy-made paintings were stolen...while not a single one of Romano's troublesome paintings was taken.

Why? _Why?_ Damn it, no! Things were going so well for the past two weeks. Sure, he was alone all the time, but why _now_ did his damn mind have to start hating himself again?

_"Your art is stupid. It sucks."_ came something similar to his childhood voice, driving into his mind as he crouched in the middle of the paintings he had worked so hard on. After a moment of trying to register his own thoughts, he froze as he came to realize that this voice was not quite his own. At least, he didn't think so. It seemed as if it were...inside him. Inside his head.

He waited in silence, not realizing that he was holding his breath, for the robber to step out from the shadows of the room...or...or _something._ After a minute or so, that seemed to drag on, Romano let out an elongated breath and went back to his old paintings, beginning to stack them back up again.

_"You're keeping those things?"_ snickered the unknown voice.

Romano froze again, his heart now thumping painfully against his ribcage. The robber was still in there, he figured. He looked around cautiously, trying to hide his fear, but nothing was there. That's when he booked it to the door and ran downstairs to the phone that had been knocked off the stand in the entryway. He grabbed it frantically and began dialing, only to find that the cord had been cut. "What the hell," his mind panicked in a whiney tone. "Why the fuck is this happening? Why? Why? _Why?!_ Is this bastard trying to kill me?!" Slamming the phone down, he quickly glanced around to ensure that no one was sneaking up behind him. Damn it...

* * *

"Italy, how has your brother been?" England asked, trying to strike a conversation to break the awkward atmosphere. It was still a bit odd for the other countries to talk to Italy, remembering what had happened to his brother at the party. The room was always dead silent now.

"Ve..." spoke Italy in an almost disappointed tone. "Nii-chan is fine, I think."

The others looked at him with expressions of sympathy and worry. France, sitting near the middle of the long table, leaned in on his elbow and glanced thoughtfully down at the unusually quiet Italian.

"Have you not talked to Romano lately?"

"No...Lovi just yells a lot lately...even for things I don't do. I don't understand." he confessed in his casually mellow tone.

Germany looked at his usually cheerful friend. "Have you tried to seriously talk to him about this? I'm sure if he see's that you're worried, then-"

Everyone jumped and turned toward America when randomly burst out in laughter. "haha Aw man, this video is _hilarious!_" he blurted out cheerfully, oblivious to the glares he was receiving. Germany rewarded him with a very hard smack on the head, and England reached over and grabbed his phone, pointing it accusingly in America's direction.

"This isn't the time to be joking around, you bloody idiot!" he shouted and then stuffed America's phone into his pocket, despite the protests. Crossing his arms, England sternly explained, "We're trying to help Italy talk to his brother. Have a heart, will you?"

Mockingly, America sat back in his seat and crossed his arms cockily. "If you wanna talk to him, then go do it! Seriously, it's not _that_ hard! We could go right now if we wanted to."

Everyone looked at him curiously now. Italy perked up now when he heard this. "Ah~! That's a great idea~!" he sang and jumped up from his seat.

The others sighed (all but Russia, who just smiled and followed along) and exchanged looks before finally getting up for a little trip to Italy.

* * *

"Now, I warn you," Germany told the others, "Italy may have a very contagious atmosphere. It can make you act just like him," he stated, pointing to North Italy. "It has happened to others before; even Japan. I am warning you now that you are not to get distracted from our mission. Understand?"

The group of countries ultimately agreed to stay focused on their mission: helping Italy learn to talk to his brother about more than just what they would have for dinner. And finally, they set off toward the home of Italy.

* * *

Romano flashed his eyes open the moment he gained consciousness. How did he get here? Why was he lying on the cold, wet ground in the middle of some forest? What was this lightheadedness he was feeling? And why was his arm-

_Wait._ What was this warm scarlet liquid running fluidly down his forearm? It was numb. And it stung. It stung like hell.

Romano pulled his bleeding arm up to his chest and held onto it as if he were holding a newborn child. His head was throbbing. What happened? Why did gashes cover his forearm? How did he get here? Why was- he reached up to hold his throbbing forehead, but- Why did his hand come back more wet?

The confused Italian looked around wearily after searching his pockets for a phone that wasn't there. His slightly blurred vision eventually picked up the metallic shine of his cell phone about thirty feet from him. Stumbling, he began to crawl painfully over to it. He picked it up and flipped it over. It wouldn't turn on, but...but he could see his reflection on the now-cracked screen. Though the reflection was dark (due to the black screen), it was easy to tell how pale and tired he was, and...it was clear to him now why his head was throbbing. A large patch of his forehead seemed to have been smashed or something...it was bleeding and numb, and his hair was plastered to what skin he had left there.

"Damn..." he managed to cough out in a whisper before lying on his side and drifting off into a sleep that seemed to be calling to him much more loudly than ever before.

* * *

Italy and the others were approaching the house of Italy (Veneziano & Romano's home), nervous to see the Southern Italy. They didn't know whether he'd be glad to see them, like at the party, or if he would become furious with his brother's sudden invitation of friends into their home. The latter was more likely, they all knew, but continued toward the house that stood in a large field surrounded by forest.

Italy's home was a beautiful white stone with a contrasting, dark roof and window frames. The balcony ceiling was held up by several columns, and the grass was a lovely shade of green. The back of the house was partially built into a small hillside so that the little tomato garden in the yard was almost level with the back door (the kitchen door). Everything seemed to be very neat and tidy, surprising as that was to the foreign countries, who only knew the Italy's to be reckless and messy.

Russia, who was near the back of the group and hadn't said a single word yet, stopped in his tracks. The others turned to face him curiously. "Something doesn't seem right here," he said casually, staring out at the fancy Italian home. He was greeted with quizzical and partially frightened looks from the other countries, but nonetheless, they all carried on.

The group made it to the staircase that lead to the front door and waited on the balcony for Italy to go and speak with his brother. They were basically there just for backup, in case Romano should go on a tantrum or something. They sat there for maybe thirty seconds before-

_"GERMANNYYYYYYY~!"_ screamed a frantic Italian.

Germany and the others immediately jumped to their feet and ran inside, expecting to rescue the North Italian from his angry Southern half. What they found was hardly expected.

Upon entering, the group of foreigners halted in their tracks and looked around shockingly. Everything was trashed and thrown around. After looking it over for a brief moment, Germany continued toward the hallway, cautiously peering around each corner until he came to a door left wide open. Tilting his head, he peered into Romano's bedroom to see Italy standing in the middle of the room, facing the wall opposite of the bed. The Italian's hands covered his mouth, and tears were threatening to fall from his eyes.

Urgently, Germany stepped into the room toward his friend. "Italy, what is i-" he cut off as he froze in his tracks upon sight of the wall.

The others, mixed with worry and curiosity, waltzed into the room soon after, and every last one of them froze and gasped upon seeing the wall.

On the wall, across from Romano's unkempt bed...were large, crimson letters.

_"The world only needs one Italy."_

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I tried to make it interesting by not giving away what happened to Romano & by using some foreshadowing. Hope it worked~! I had a seriously fun time writing this chapter! Thanks again for reading this far (it means a lot), and I hope you continue reading3**

**Also, I wanted to tell you that I probably won't have the next chapter up tomorrow. (Technically today, since it's like 1:40am...) Anyway, I likely won't have it up then. I will be at my grandparents' for Thanksgiving and won't be able to write this without my family breathing down my neck. lol Plus, I really should work on my homework assignment while I'm stuck there anyway. But I certainly will work on the next chapter tomorrow~! c: (I'm actually quite excited to write it for some reason.)**

**That is all. Have a nice day~! Night? (Whatever time it is at your place~)**


	5. Why

**This chapter didn't come out quite like I planned, but I still hope you like it~! The italic sections are flashbacks. Sorry, there are a few large sections here that are all italics :c**

**Enjoy~!**

* * *

"Call me Romano...Romano _Italy._"

...  
_A voice kept creeping into his mind, taking control over his thoughts. How many times was it? Two? Three? Maybe four days, tops. In the two weeks since his little 'episode,' Romano had only seen his brother a few times. Even in those moments, the few words they spoke to each other were regarding what they should have for dinner._

_He was ashamed to have been seen in that state; bawling like a baby. Yet, his brother still hadn't asked what was wrong, or if something was still wrong. Why? Did he not care? He noticed how quiet and distant Veneziano had become. Sometimes, he'd felt like his brother kept leaving just to get away from him._

_Was Romano not good enough? Was he now too pathetic in the eyes of his brother to be bothered with? Or was he always? Veneziano had never really liked to hang him anyway. They had never gone anywhere together, never done anything together. They never even really talked to each other._

_With all the time he had spent alone during those two weeks after Prussia's party, Romano often found himself thinking more deeply about his life and even about his brother and his grandfather...the other countries...Spain...and the world as a whole. And the more he thought, the more his mind wondered; the more he realized that he didn't have a place in it._

_One night in particular, Romano had had enough of his wondering mind. It was giving him a headache and left him feeling more and more hollow. Late one evening, he snapped and found himself taking stashes of wine from the cellar. He slumped on the couch and drank and drank, straight from the bottle. His head would spin, and his vision would blur...yet it felt so good to have alcohol flooding his system, attempting to drain out that empty feeling that designated throughout his body and most painfully in his heart._

_That was when the voice decided to greet him._

* * *

"W-what happened?!" shouted England, fearful shock clinging to his voice.

Italy dropped himself to the ground and pulled his face into his bent knees. He began to weep audibly, muffling his harsh sobs so that the others possibly wouldn't hear. Germany immediately demanded that everyone should keep alert and search the house for any signs of the missing Italian. When most of the others had left the room, he went to get a closer look at the writing on the wall.

Italy felt a hand set on his back and lifted his head from his knees, sniffling away the tears. He turned to reassure the other that he was alright, but he only swung his head back into his knees, sobbing and shaking violently, when he had glanced at Russia's smiling face beside him. Russia continued to pat him on the back in a manner that would have been considered comforting if it had been anyone else doing it.

The room shook as someone came running down the stairs and ran frantically down the hallway and up to Italy.

"Itay..." France panted to the tearful boy looking up at him almost hopefully. Germany paced over to them, his expression alone demanding to know why he had come running.

France looked at him briefly and then back to Italy, taking hold of his shoulder to lift him to his feet.

Upstairs, the group of countries gathered and stood in the attic, almost in a circle. Italy pushed to get to the middle and stopped breathing when he saw what they were looking at.

It was a note. Written in very sloppy handwriting (as if the writer were rushing to finish it) on the back of an old, scratched-up canvas painting, was a note for Italy.  
_"Feli_  
_So sorry paintings gone_  
_hear a voice_  
_have to go_  
_I lo"_  
The words were scribbled, and the grammar unattended to. The canvas letter was never finished but was stained with near-crimson blotches of now-dry liquid. On the floor all around were more blotches of the substance and even some large, wet pools of crimson.

The room became grim and quiet, silent tears being wept by many of the countries. Even Russia no longer bore a smile.

Italy gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes painfully. His grip tightened on the thin canvas, turning his knuckles white, and he pulled it to against his body as a river of silent tears began to flow down his reddened cheeks.

* * *

_Romano was completely wasted as he was lying on the couch. He faced the wall across the seemingly-empty living room as he munched on a raw tomato. He stared at a framed photograph for the longest time, not really thinking anything, just staring._

_It was a photo of he and his brother being held by their Grandpa Rome. Veneziano was perched front and center on their grandfather's lap, smiling cheerfully up at the thoughtful-looking man. Little Romano seemed to be crawling over the man's shoulder (unnoticed), possibly about to slide down onto his grandfather's lap as well._

_He was pouting in that photo, Romano noticed, and was looking right at little Veneziano with something of jealousy in his eyes. His grandfather had always laughed at that photo, saying how cute it was that he had been upset about his brother sitting right in the center and leaving no room for him. Though (to Romano), it had always made him angry to see this photo because he knew that it went much deeper than that. His brother was always the center of everything...leaving no room for him._

_"It's because he's the real Italy," stated a childish voice that drifted into the room, placing emphasis on the word "real."_

_Romano flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He seemed relatively calm. "So then," he spoke indifferently to the unknown voice. "I'm not Romano Italy?" His voice was flat and quiet, and his words were slightly slurred due to his excessive alcohol intake._

_The voice paused for a moment as the Italian gave himself some time to stare at the ceiling and think it over._

_"You are Lovino Romano Vargas," it finally spoke. "And nothing more."_

...  
_After much arguing with his voice, Romano squeezed the tomato between his fingers, the reddish juice seeping down his arm and onto his clothes. His other arm hung over the side of the couch, clutching a wine bottle tightly._

_Streams of tears flooded down his face, and he lifted the bottle to pour it into his mouth once more. He gulped twice and began coughing vigorously as the liquid slammed into his throat._

_He tilted the bottle upright again as he paused to regain his composure. A moment later, he angrily whipped his arm to the side with much force and sent the bottle flying across the room, where it shattered along with that photo he so very much hated._

_He screamed in frustration, and he stood...and rampaged through the house, screaming curses as he knocked around everything in sight. His mind was blaring with rage that he couldn't contain; rage that he couldn't even understand. And he destroyed; destroyed everything until-_

_Those paintings. Those dreadful, awful, beautiful paintings. He hated them. He despised them. He loved them._

_Romano smiled. Such beautiful paintings. Grandpa Rome loved these paintings, he remembered as he thoughtfully touched the colored canvas. Romano's tender fingers tilted until his nails touched the painting, and he scraped down to the bottom edge. He did it again. And again. He clawed the paint more rapidly as his blood began to boil faster and faster._

_He snapped himself out of it as he stared down at the last painting in his hands. It was ugly; ruined by the various scrapes running down its surface. The same as all of Veneziano's paintings now. His brother would be so upset-_

_No. No...he didn't mean to do this. He didn't mean-_

_"He never cared for you."_

_Yes. Yes, he does. He do-_

_"He acts like you don't exist," the voice bluntly stated, interrupting._

_H-he does! He does...Romano's heart pleaded._

_"You are not Italy."_

_I am...His heart cried in defeat._

_"You are not."_

* * *

France stepped out of the room and headed downstairs where the phone lie on the ground. Picking it up, he discovered that the wire was cut and sighed before throwing it at the wall in frustration, effectively breaking it in two. He slid down the same wall and sighed, letting his body fall limp as he closed his eyes to think.

England ran about half way down the stairs to see what the loud noise was and halted in confusion when he saw France sitting on the floor, looking like he was sleeping.

"Hey...France..." he trailed off, worried.

France's eyes opened slowly as he tilted his head toward England. He chuckled wearily to cover his pain and smiled grimly at the other country. "You think we should try calling him?" He wanted to know that Romano was okay. That's all he could ask for right then. But even so...he was afraid of the answer. That is to say...he was afraid there would be no answer.

England furrowed his eyebrows worriedly, then turned to head back upstairs, though he was stopped by the crowd of other countries now heading down.

They all stood out on the balcony, where they tried their best to relax themselves. Italy sat away from everyone else, perched on the second-to-top stair, his arms crossed over the canvas letter that he held tight to his chest. His expression was a mix of shock and blankness as his gaze seemed to be resting on the ground at the bottom of the staircase.

Germany watched his friend sadly, as did most of the others. America stood leaning against the house beside Germany, looking as if he were contemplating something. Russia was at the far end of the balcony, staring off to the forest far behind the house. France was sitting on the ground, staring at his feet over the knees that were pulled up for his chin to rest on.

Just ten minutes before, they had tried to call the missing Italian's cell phone. It rang so many times; so many dreadful rings that seemed to drag out the time...before it went to that heartbreaking voicemail.

They had all been completely silent since then.

* * *

_Romano remembered. He remembered it all when he had realized that no one was in his home. Because the voice that was speaking to him...it was his own; his deepest thoughts, the true feelings he held for himself and this world._

_He did this. He wrecked the house. He destroyed his brother's paintings and had thrown them out the window, into the tomato garden for whatever hell of a reason he had when he was wasted and completely losing his mind. He had thrown out the shards of wine gla-_

_Shards._

_That was this feeling inside of him. It felt like shards. "A shattered bottle holds no wine," he reminded himself. So what about a shattered heart? A shattered mind?_

_The South Italian's legs began to move toward the trash can in the kitchen. Each step was painful, heavy, and slow. The muscles in his body all tensed at once, and it felt as if it should be difficult to move. Yet he could not stop himself from reaching into the garbage for a large shard of the wine glass he had thrown at the family photo the previous night._

_His mind almost wasn't thinking as his body moved. It heavily dragged him out to the garden, where he picked up one of Veneziano's old paintings; a portrait of their grandfather, now scratched and scraped in most places. He carried it up to the attic, each step feeling like a weight dropping to the ground. And yet he moved quietly, almost breathlessly, to the center of the room._

_Flipping the canvas over in his hands, Romano grabbed a marker that had been lying around the mess and began frantically writing, as the voice in his head grew more impatient and flooded his thoughts. He couldn't think straight. He had to hurry. He had to do this. His hand swiftly glided across the paper as quickly as it could, and as sloppily._

_"Feli," he began, knowing that he should at least address the letter to his brother. "So sorry paintings gone - hear a voice" he tried to explain, his mind not working quite properly. "have to go - I lo," his hand stopped moving. Did he love him? Why was he doing this? Did he really think that Veneziano would care?_

_"Veneziano never talks to you," chimed the voice of his childhood. "He won't care about your letter. He won't care if you love him. He won't care if you're sorry."_

_"Stop!" Romano shouted as loudly as he could, tossing the open marker into the air as he hunched forward with his arms protecting his head from some unknown source. "Leave me alone..." he said through his breath._

_"Just do it. He won't care."_

_He paused and glanced at the red shard of glass to his left, loosening the arms that protected his head. He reached down thoughtlessly and gripped the shard tightly, beads of crimson now running from the corners that touched him._

_Ever so gently, he slid the shard along his arm. A little trickle._

_"Feli wouldn't care."_

_He cut more slowly and deeply, grimacing as warm crimson cascaded down his arm and dripped to the canvas below._

_"Not enough," the voice purred._

_Romano clenched his fist around the glass, blood streaming down onto the canvas in rapid drops, splattering onto the thoughtless words he had written. Backing away from the canvas, he tilted the weapon higher and forcefully plunged it into his forearm, spilling a massively large pool of blood. A wave of dizziness came over him. Ever so slightly, he pulled the shard down and across, up and over, and-_

_Was he crying? He cradled his arm. It hurt so badly...Why? Why did he do this? How would this make things better? What was he thinking?! Tears fell from his dulling eyes and pitter-pattered onto the floor in a rush of water._

_He couldn't stay here. No. If he stayed, then Feli would find him. Eventually. If he were planning on coming home any time soon, which the South Italian found unlikely. Slowly, he lifted himself from the floor and stumbled over to the staircase, carefully walking down them with the railing supporting him. Wait. Careful? He'd just cut his damn arm open! Why the hell would he be worried about falling down some stupid stairs?_

_Romano laughed inwardly about his own stupidity. It would be the death of him._

_He made his way to his bedroom, looking to gather some clothes before he'd leave. But as he made it about half way across the room, he stopped at the foot of his bed. Why did he need clothes? If he were to take them, then it would be obvious that he had left on his own, and his brother would come looking for him. And Spain too, probably. Or would they? He sighed, turning his head toward the bare wall of his bedroom, and began writing._

_And he ran. He took off out the kitchen door and across the field, into the forest. And he kept running. Branches and thorns hit his open arm forcefully, making him scream in pain even more. His vision was so very blurred and would flick to white every so often, causing him to stumble even more and run into things._

_He just wanted to get far away. He wanted to get far enough that his brother wouldn't find him; far enough that he couldn't come crawling back home after so long. And so he ran._

_And he lost his footing. The ground disappeared beneath him, and he tumbled down a steep hillside before he could even realize what was happening._

_*crack*_

_He blacked out._

* * *

**Sorry if this was a too long! I guess I just wasn't really sure how to go about it to fit it into this chapter :-/**

**Hope you enjoyed~! (I'm really tired now. Going to bed. Nighty night.)**


	6. Found in Tatters

**I am realllly sorry that I took longer than expected to finish this chapter. I've been very busy at college and haven't gotten much time to work on it. So instead of sitting down and writing it all at once (like usual), I had to work on it bit by bit. Hope the quality didn't suffer too much because of that. Also, lame title is lame.**

**Nonetheless, hope you enjoy~!**

* * *

"We should look for him," Germany stated exhaustingly after a long while of sitting in that gloomy atmosphere. Everyone looked up when he broke the silence, he noted, except for Italy, who looked as if he'd fallen asleep while clutching the bloodied canvas. "France. I assume you have Spain's number?" he asked, since he couldn't bring himself to have Italy make the call.

"Oui," he nodded and began dialing. He walked to the very end of the porch as soon as he clicked call and held the phone up to his ear.

_*beep* "Hola, this is Antonio~! Sorry, I'm probably working right now,"_ Spain's recorded voice rang aloud through the phone. _"Oh, but if this is France, I blocked your number."_ His big grin just radiated from his voice. _"You're not taking my Romano!" *beep*_ (Obviously, Spain has been far too busy with work lately to change the voicemail from when the Italian still lived with him.)

Everyone stared at France, a little surprised and slightly confused, though France just stared at his phone awkwardly. If it weren't for the current situation, England would have laughed about the Frenchie's number being blocked, but he didn't. His expression was actually a bit more pitiful now.

"I'll call him," came a barely audible whisper of a voice. Everyone turned and saw a very tired-looking Italy staring up at them with eyes blank of all hope.

"Italy..." Germany trailed, his voice enveloped with worry. He walked over and knelt by his friend, facing him. "We're going to look for him...we'll find him. I promise." When Italy looked away and didn't respond. Germany sighed and stood up to face the others. "Let's go."

The group of countries made their way down the stairs, many of them giving the Italian a comforting pat as they walked by. After they had all gone off in different directions to search the woods, France came up and sat on the stair beside Italy.

"Mon ami...we will find him." He placed his hand on Italy's knee, who looked up in response. France's gaze was worried but a bit hopeful. Italy's lips curved slightly into a small smile. "Your cell, mon cher." France held out his hand and gave a little saddened smile.

Italy reached for his phone and handed it over. He waited as the French man searched through his contacts for the name of _"Big Brother Spain"_ and clicked call.

* * *

Spain looked up from his work when his phone started to ring. Who was...oh, it's Italy. Placing down the weapon he was currently sharpening, the Spaniard picked up his phone and cheerfully greeted the caller.

"Mon ami, you must come quickly."

Spain blinked. "France, what are you calling me for? You know I'm busy." There was a touch of irritation and exhaustion in his words.

"Something has happened to our little Romano. And I'm afraid it may not be good."

France went on to explain the situation over a period of time. A lump formed in Spain's throat when he heard about the bloody messages that were left behind, and he found it impossible to continue smiling.

"Mon ami?" France asked after receiving a silent response.

"Yeah..." the Spaniard finally managed to whisper into the phone. "I'll be right over."

* * *

_Romano was having a rather unpleasant dream._

_It was a memory...from his childhood. He had been living with Spain for a short while then...and as usual, he wasn't very happy. He got yelled at often, and though his caretaker was almost constantly smiling, he knew that he wasn't happy about Romano's habits. And then one day..._

_"Come on, Romano. We're going to visit your brother today," Spain smiled as he walked into the living room where his little Italian was lying on the couch, casually munching on a raw tomato._

_"Eh, how come, ya bastard?"_

_"I have some business with Austria, but you can go play with Italy while we're there."_

_Romano had wanted to correct Spain about the whole "Italy" thing, but he just grunted and went along to Austria's place._

_Veneziano was already waiting at the door for them. Though he hadn't shown it at the time, Romano was very glad to see his brother again. He'd let Feli drag him around by the sleeve to run around the house. Of course, he was shooting out curses, but he was truly happy to have someone to play with at the time._

_They stopped running around when they reached Italy's room, where they plopped onto the bed like they had when they'd lived together._

_"Lovi," Veneziano's sweet little voice rang out. "Do you like living with Big Brother Spain?"_

_The South Italian grunted and rolled over onto his back. "That tomato bastard is annoying. And would you quit calling him our brother?!" Romano did like Spain, though he wouldn't admit to it._

_"Aw, but he seems nice. And he takes care of you just fine, ve~?"_

_"'Cos everyone nice ends up not liking me," Romano thought to himself as sat up and crawled off the bed, grudgingly leaving the room. When his brother asked where he was going, he just continued on as if he didn't hear. He was heading toward the kitchen when he heard a pleading voice coming from the living room, stopping him in his tracks._

_"Please, Austria!" The tomato bastard's voice? "Please! Romano is lazy and mean! Your Italy is so much better~! Can't we trade?!"_

_His heart froze. Before he knew it, he was running back to the bedroom, passing his brother without even realizing it. He jumped onto the bed and smothered his face in the blanket, trying to keep from crying aloud. Veneziano walked into the room slowly and looked at his brother questioningly, not knowing that he was crying._

_"What's wrong, nii-chan?"_

_"What's wrong?" he had thought to himself. "You're better than me at everything! Everyone loves you and hates me! Even that damn tomato bastard, Spain!" But he didn't tell his brother any bit of what he really felt. He simply stated, "Nothing, you damn bastard. I'm just tired, so leave me alone!" and left it at that._

Romano woke up from his dream. He could smell the dirt on his face and the blood on his head, and he could hear a voice beside him. Where was he? His eyes slowly opened, though his vision was slightly blurred from the blood loss. What he could see was...he was on the ground...there were plenty of trees...and a blurred figure crouching beside him.

"Ah, you are awake." the figure smiled, and Romano felt his heart sink in fear.

The last thing he remembered before blacking out again was the one word that shook his entire being.

_Russia._

* * *

After leaving the house, the group had gone in separate directions to search for the missing country. Japan and Germany went to search the forest on the left. England and America went forward. China took the right, and Russia traveled straight back. They were to call Germany if they found anything, and he then would alert the others.

Russia trudged across the field, a thin smile on his face. As he neared the tree line, he stopped and bent to pick something up. It was a shard of glass, painted in a crimson red. Romano must not have realized that he was still carrying it until he got to the forest. But Ivan knew it was there. He could smell the blood from the balcony, and he seemed to be the only one with enough sense to look for a blood trail in the grass.

He shoved the shard in his pocket, not so carefully, and continued to follow the trail through the forest. After walking for so long, he saw the blood disappear from his view, though he could now smell it more strongly.

It was a drop-off; a bit of a cliff. The trail seemed to lead right off of it.

Russia leaned forward and looked to the bottom of the trail. There lie the boy they were searching for, covered in blood. Ivan stepped off the ledge and slid down the cliff side, landing perfectly at the bottom. Crouching beside the injured boy, he poked a finger at him. He got a soft moan in response.

Flipping out his phone, he dialed Germany's number. He got an answer almost immediately.

"Have you found him?!"

"Yes," Russia replied rather calmly, a smile on his face. "He is unconscious but alive."

"Alright. Don't move him. I'll inform the others." He went on to ask just where they were at and told Ivan to just wait for them. Russia listened silently as Germany told Japan to text the others to meet them...and then he noticed a little movement.

"Ah, you are awake," he stated simply when he noticed the Italian straining to look at him.

A panic went through the boy's eyes, and Russia waited a moment before he realized that Romano had lost consciousness again.

* * *

"Italy!" Germany shouted as he and Japan ran toward the house, the others running from the forest on either side. "Italy, we've found him!"

France and Italy perked up, the Frenchie jumping to his feet at the news. "Where is he?" he asked with urgency.

"Russia found him in the forest behind the house. He's alive but unconscious. That's all he told me..."

"Well, let's go!" Italy wailed as he jumped up at Germany. "He could be hurt!"

They began down the stairs once again, but England stopped and looked up. France was still standing at the top, looking unsure. "Aren't you coming, Francis?"

"Oui..." he smiled. "But I must wait for Spain. We'll come as soon as we can." And so he waited as the others rounded the house and rushed across the field.

It was but a few minutes later that the Spaniard finally arrived on bull-back, skidding to a halt at the bottom of the staircase. "France! Have you found him?!"

"Oui," he answered quickly and quickly stamped down toward Spain. "He's somewhere in the woods back behin- gahk!" he choked as he was suddenly pulled by the collar onto the back of the bull. "W-what are you-?!"

The bull charged around the house and across the field at full speed while France clung to Spain's body in fear, closing his eyes and screaming like a little school girl. He only quieted down when the wild ride had stopped, and Spain hopped off and ran into the forest without a word.

"Spain? Wait up a moment!" France jumped down from the bull (who was too big to fit between the trees) and followed after the other country.

* * *

The group stood huddled in a misshapen circle around the boy on the ground. Italy was sobbing uncontrollably as Germany held him back from jumping at his brother's body. China had told them to give him space while he checked Romano's wounds.

"He may have a concussion," he informed them as he examined the head injury. His attention turned toward the bloodied arm, which he flipped over in his hand to look at closer. The others were too focused on Romano's head injury and hadn't noticed his arm before hand, and they all cringed at the sight.

France, followed by Spain, halted at the top of the ledge, where he could peer down onto the group. He was breathing heavily. It had taken a lot of energy to get ahead of the Spaniard so that he could actually lead him here...

"Roma-" Spain exhaled before racing down to the group. France followed slowly, not sure if he'd like what they would find. They pushed through and froze when they saw the boy's battered arm and bloody forehead. Spain began stuttering questions, but France just turned away from the sight and covered his mouth. He couldn't bear to look at that.

"He's lost a lot of blood," China added between Spain's stutters. "But he won't die." He paused, looking over to Italy, who just stared back in surprised relief. "We should get him home. I don't have any medical kits with me. Careful," he turned and said to Spain, who was lifting Romano's limp body off of the ground (bridal style).

Spain stared down at the South Italian's pale face...such an expression of fear and pain was pasted there...unlike anything he had ever seen from the boy in all the years he had lived with him. He wanted more than anything to take that pain and fear away.

"Are you sure we should be taking him back home?" Germany asked China. "The attacker...may come back."

China sighed and started walking back. "Whether he stays in Italy or not...he can not escape the one who did this..." he trailed his voice off with a touch of sadness. The others looked even more frightened and even shocked when he said this.

"China!" England shouted. "You- You know who did this?!"

He nodded almost unnoticeably but then shook his head roughly to correct himself. "N-no, aru...but...you should keep an eye on him from now on. Don't leave him alone, even for a moment." He continued on back toward the house, the others following behind shortly after, Spain trying his best to keep the unconscious Italian from bumping into any trees.

"Trust me," Spain stated quite seriously. "I won't."

* * *

**Again, sorry it took so long :c Also, I probably won't get around to chapter seven until this weekend, if even then. I have a bunch of stuff to get done this week, since it's the last week of classes this semester. Next week is finals, so I really don't know how much work I'll have then. Probably not as much, but you never know. I'll try c: **

**Thanks to those of you who continue to follow this fanfic~! **


	7. Apology

**Sorry I've been taking so long...finals week...I'll be on winter break soon. This chapter is a bit more laid back than some of the others. Hope you enjoy it~**

* * *

Romano's consciousness came rolling back when he felt a strange lack of pain and a comforting warmth flowing through his hand. He sighed heavily and fixed his grip more comfortably, relieved that he could feel so tired while remaining warm.

_*gasp*_ "R...Romano...?"

His heavy eyelids slid open (with a bit of effort) to see a red-faced Spaniard seated on a kitchen chair beside the bed. The Italian stared exhaustingly, confused as to why Spain was in his room, staring at him as if they hadn't seen each other in years.

"Y-You bastard!" Romano shouted loudly at his (now-surprised) old friend and yanked his hand away when he realized that Spain had been holding it. His face was slowly becoming a bright red, embarrassed of the fact that he'd actually been enjoying the warmth of another's hand in his.

"Eh?! R-Romano-" Spain waved his hands in front of him and tried to keep Romano from getting out of bed. "W-wait! China said you have to stay in bed and rest."

"And why is tha-" he paused, confused, when he noticed the bandage wrapped tightly around his entire forearm. Wait. They found him? But...did they know? He looked up at Spain sincerely, causing the elder country to jump slightly in shock.

"E..eh...? Lovi...?"

Romano turned away, sitting on the bottom edge of the bed now. Wait...he was in Veneziano's room, wasn't he? Oh well. That wasn't important now. What mattered was if the others knew what happened. Without realizing, he was gazing at the floor in deep thought.

"Ro-"

"What happened?" Romano suddenly asked with stern certainty and waited patiently for an answer.

"...You don't remember?" replied the clueless Spaniard, who became very panicked. "Roma- you were attacked. Don't you remember?"

The Italian stopped to think but answered with an uncertain shake of the head. Good. They thought he was attacked...they didn't know that he'd done this to himself. That made it easier to pretend that he didn't remember.

"I...was attacked?" Romano feigned uncertainty and fear.

"Y-yes. You really don't remember? Maybe...well, you hit your head, so...your memory might be-" he stuttered but was interrupted by an elongated high-pitched growl from the Italian's stomach.

Romano's face flushed with embarrassment when Spain stopped mid-sentence and stared in surprise at the sound of his stomach. An awkward silence hung in the air, causing him to get even more red and frustrated.

Spain broke out in laughter until he fell to the floor, cradling his ribcage as the laughing pained him.

"Ah- Are you done laughing at me yet, bastard?" he asked, trying to change the conversation to end his embarrassment.

"Sorry," Spain apologized as he stood and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "I just missed those awkward outbursts of yours." He smiled, while Romano mumbled in frustration. "Anyway, everyone's worried. We should tell them you're awake and have a feast!"

"Who the hell is 'everyone?" he asked irritatingly as he followed the elder country out of the room and down the hallway, not noticing his own limp.

"The other countries, silly," Spain remarked. "Who else?" he said without looking back at the Italian, just gesturing by waving his hands in the air a bit (a habit he may have picked up from living with Italians too long).

"Since when did those damn bastards worry about me?" Romano remarked back with a bit of spite. Spain stopped suddenly, causing the Italian to walk into him. "What the hell?"

"Romano," the elder spoke with an unusually stern and serious tone.

"What?"

Spain turned to face his now-grown little Italian, who was still quite a bit shorter than him. His expression was very different than anything that could ever be associated with Spain. He almost seemed angry, yet...not exactly.

"What...?"

"Is that what you think, Romano?"

He didn't know what to say. What did he say that made Spain mad? What the hell was he talking about?

"Romano, you don't think..." His anger seemed to slip away from him, as his face became nothing but sadness and even guilt. "You think we don't care about you? About what happens to you?!" He looked to the Italian's eyes, which avoided the contact and stared down at the floor to his side. "Roma, what aren't you telling me?" Romano didn't move, but his face tightened in pain. "Lovi! You can talk to me about anything." He gripped the boy's shoulders, shaking him. "You know that, right?" he asked with much urgency and waited for a response, tears threatening to fall more and more as the time went on, Romano still unmoving.

"I..." the Italian finally responded in slurred whisper. "...I'm fine." He looked up at the Spaniard, regaining his normal, bratty composure. "I'm fine, you bastard. There's nothing to talk about," he said with finality as he quickly limped past Spain and toward the kitchen.

* * *

The front door clinked open, and an unusual group of countries walked in; Italy (Veneziano), Germany, China, France, England, and Prussia. They didn't look very enthusiastic as they casually (and exhaustingly) tossed their jackets off to the side, the Germans folding theirs neatly and setting them on the small phone stand. Some tossed their shoes off to the side of the entryway. England was holding a small white box. And none of them seemed to notice the country sitting at the kitchen table, which was partly visible straight ahead from the front door, though it was in a different room.

Romano wasn't surprised that Italy would bring Germany to their house, or that China was there, but the others (especially Prussia) seemed a bit odd. He got up from the table, slowly as to not be seen, and moved to leave out the back door. As he was trying his best to quietly close open the door, he heard the others coming toward the kitchen. But damn it, the door was wedged. He frantically giggled and pulled at the handle until the door yanked open loudly, and then he was gone, wedging it shut behind him.

"What was that racket?" England questioned as the group waltzed into the kitchen.

"How should we know? We were in the other room as well, mon cher," France joked, sliding his hand down the Englishman's cheek seductively and laughing at the flinch he received as a reaction.

"Whatever, you bloody priss!" England stalked over to the refrigerator and opened it, sliding the white box onto the center shelf. He then noted how little food there was. "It's a bit unusual that _you_ of all people, Italy, do not have very much in stock."

"Ve~ Big Brother Spain has been staying a while. And Germany and China too."

"Ah. I see." He stepped back from the fridge, closing it gently. "And where is Spain?"

"Probably in Italy's room," Germany suggested. "He hasn't left Romano's side much since he's been unconscious."

"Ve..." Italy sounded a bit down, which was happening a lot lately. "Do you think nii-chan will wake up soon?"

"I'm sure he will. Just relax. He's fine now," Germany reassured, though he knew in his mind that Romano could still be in danger, and Italy as well.

The group of countries slowly moved out to the living room to watch television and relax their nerves a bit. They were too focused on their thoughts to realize that the unusually quiet Prussia had stayed behind, leaning against the kitchen wall with his arms crossed, staring vigorously at the back door's window. There was a swirl sticking up from the other side of the window pane. He'd instantly noticed it when he walked into the kitchen, but he didn't say anything because he just had to be sure of what he was seeing first.

Then the swirl moved.

* * *

Romano was straining to listen through the door. He'd planned on just running to the other side of the house to hide, but curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself crouching back against the door.

He analyzed the situation based on the conversations he could faintly hear. France was being a perv, of course...England was looking for food (probably because his own food sucks, the Italian decided)...Spain really stayed beside him that whole time...Feli...was upset? And of course, Germany simply declared that he was fine, when he really isn't. That damn potato bastard didn't care. Romano was sure that he'd simply wanted Veneziano to stop whining.

He listened more, but it wasn't long before he heard the faint sound of feet shuffling out of the kitchen. He waited, then sighed and turned his ear away from the door to look out across the field. The canvas paintings were missing, no longer scattered about the garden, where his drunken self had thrown them. His brother must be heart broken from that. Then again, Veneziano had the talent to easily whip up a perfect replica of anything, didn't he?

_*sigh*_ Romano let his head rest in his hands. Still, how would he look into his brother's eyes knowing that he'd been the one to ruin those precious paintings...the paintings made with Grandpa Rome?

The Italian flinched when the door suddenly squeaked open behind him. If he hadn't been leaning into his hands, he would have fallen back into the feet of the obnoxious potato bastard looking down at him. "Damn it," he thought. "He's the last person I want to deal with right now."

Prussia glanced down at him, then stepped out and pulled the door closed as quietly as he could, which still wasn't very quiet. Romano leaned to the side, as if to scoot away from him but became confused when the German sat beside him on the back stair. He just stared at him, expecting some kind of tease or insult, but the albino simply stared out across the field.

When Prussia finally glanced sideways at him, Romano averted his eyes and turned his head the other way. He gritted his teeth, just waiting for the insults to come flying or even for the bastard to start flaunting how _"awesome"_ he was. No such thing came. After yet another uncomfortable silence between the two, he could see by his contorted features that the German was straining to say something. So he had some big insult, right? But he didn't want to say it because _West_ would be pissed if he did. Romano grew more pissed off just by the thought and decided that he'd be the first to say something.

"Look," the Italian boldly stated. "If you're going to come to my house and-"

"I'm not here to insult you," Prussia sighed irritatingly.

"Then why the hell are yo-"

"I came to apologize."

What? Did he hear that right? No...that bastard had to be playing at something.

Romano stared at the albino, who noticed the look of disgusted confusion and uncertainty. Prussia sighed again, irritated that he had to explain this more. He really regretted what he'd said at his party, but he hated to continue talking about how unawesome he had been...The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. But he knew he had to do something.

"The fuck do you need to apologize for, bastard?" Romano nearly shouted, angry at how long the other was taking to continue with his _"apology."_

"You're not a knock-off Italy, okay?" Prussia seemed clearly frustrated when he said this, though...it seemed as if he was more upset with himself than with him. "I was just mad that you were getting all of the attention. I didn't mean the stuff I said."

What? "You're talking about that party?" Romano was honestly surprised by what he was hearing, though he was still overly-skeptical. Prussia wasn't the kind of person to admit to his mistakes.

"I was unawesome, okay?!" the Albino practically shouted, not even looking at the Italian. "I was just...jealous...that you and Italy could both be awesome, and I'm nothing compared to my _little_ brother."

Romano really didn't know what to say. Prussia just confessed to him about something he would never tell anyone else. That damn...potato bastard was in the same situation as _him,_ except...he thought Romano was awesome?

"Um," the South Italian began, wrapping his arms around his knees and playing with his hands because it was a really uncomfortable situation. He wasn't really sure what to say.

"You don't have to say anything, _Romano._" Prussia spat venomously. "My brother said we all make mistakes," he continued a bit sadly and stood up. "I just don't ever stop making them." He turned and reached for the door handle but was stopped when the Italian grabbed hold of his pant leg. He glanced down, slightly confused.

"Then let's stop making them," Romano sternly stated.

"Huh?" Prussia was now seriously confused. (Not that he ever wasn't confused, the poor dumb fuck.)

"I'm telling you, bastard, that we should stop making stupid mistakes." He stood, letting go of Prussia's pants, and shoved himself into the wedged door, opening it noisily.

"What are you...?"

"And by the way, stupid bastard," Romano said as he glared back at the albino German. "You're not the only one whose life is a mistake. And," he added, "My brother's name is Veneziano. If you're going to call him Italy, then call me Italy too." He turned and moved to slam the door (which Prussia caught before stepping in) and shouted "Bastard!" as he stalked off down the hallway.

* * *

**So I hope you enjoyed it. I'm not really sure yet, but there might only be two or three chapters left for this fanfic. And then I can start another .w. But I do hope you enjoy reading the rest of this one. I want to thank those of you who have been reading, especially "TheDeadOne28" for keeping up with it and reviewing. You're awesome~! c: **

**When I finish up this fanfic, I will probably do a quick Germany-based one-shot (kinda told someone I'd make one based off of a picture)...and then I will probably start a series based on Norway3 Hope you guys read them later on~ **

**Again, thanks for reading. c: I will try to get the next chapter posted soon.**


	8. Something In-Between

**Seems I have grown bored with this fanfic...I have others in mind that I think I'll enjoy writing more. I'm going to wrap this up now. Something really bad happened in my family, and I just can't work with this anymore because it's kind of similar to what I had wanted to happen in the story...which wasn't very pleasant...so I'd just like to move on with my other fanfics and personal work.**

**Ending this on a happy note. Enjoy~!**

* * *

A loud squeak came from the kitchen, followed by a pause and then stomping down the hallway, joined by the clearly distinguishable shouting of _"Bastard!"_

In the living room, everyone froze in excitement upon hearing the insult, then jumped up to run into the kitchen. Italy looked around for his brother, smiling ear to ear. But all he could see was Prussia, so he took off down the hall and into his bedroom.

Upon entering, Veneziano noticed two things. One, Spain was sitting on the end of the bed with his head in his hands, looking very troubled. And two, Romano was leaning against the wall across from the Spaniard, hands in his pockets and looking rather apologetic. Still, Feli didn't hesitate to glomp his brother and embrace in a great one-way hug.

"Nii-chan~! Nii-chan~!" he purred as he rubbed his smiling face against his brother's now grumpy one. "I'm so glad you're alright! Ve~!" He released his hug and held loosely onto Romano's hands. "We brought you a cake, Lovi!" he exclaimed and then noticed that his brother was still in the pajamas they had changed him into while he was unconscious. "Come ooon~ Get dressed, and we will all share some of Germany's delicious cake~!" He then seemingly slipped out of the room and down the hallway, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Spain lifted his face from his hands, curving his lips in a lopsided smile, though his eyes remained somewhere between happy and sad; and guilty.

Romano sighed and turned his head away from the doorway, where he'd watched his brother disappear to, and focused back on his former boss.

"Do you see now, Roma...? We all care for you. Even Germany went as far as to make you a cake..." He looked thoughtful and sad but smiled, nonetheless.

The South Italian fought the urge to suggest that the cake had been poisoned. His instincts told him to always insult everything, but his heart told him that now wasn't the time. He knew Germany would never do that, and he knew it would only make Spain feel worse if he were to even joke about such a thing right now. So he just said nothing.

"Eh...well, we should probably go join them." Spain placed his hands on his knees and pushed to lift himself up. "Hurry and get dressed, okay?" He tilted his head and gave an honest smile before making his way out, closing the door behind him.

Romano was alone now. The room felt empty and strange. It wasn't dull but wasn't cheerful either. It wasn't cold but wasn't warm. It was just...some kind of in-between feeling; something much more comfortable than what he was used to. _Peaceful,_ he thought. It didn't force him to smile...it just felt that he didn't need to frown all the time. It was stupid. How could things just suddenly change like this? It wasn't right. It didn't make sense.

_"Maybe you're the one that's changed,"_ a familiar voice creeped into his mind as he stood in the room, gazing off at the air in front of him.

"Maybe I am," the Italian agreed, speaking aloud, seemingly to no one. He flashed a smile (a strange sight, indeed), though no one was there to see it. And he started stripping his pajamas to change into the neatly folded clothes that had been left on the night stand beside the bed he'd awoken in that morning. He opened the door and stared down the hallway, hearing the familiar voices of the other countries, talking and laughing with each other. "Maybe I am," he repeated thoughtfully.

* * *

When he arrived in the kitchen, various countries were circling the table, picking out pieces of cake as Germany sliced it. They didn't seem to notice him walk in until France ran over and lifted him in the air with a powerful bear hug, noisily going off about how worried he was and how much he loves his little tomato.

"Alright, you bastard," Romano ordered neutrally, "You've had your fun. Now put me down." And France did just that, slightly surprised by the lack of anger and punching he'd received.

"How are you feeling?" Germany asked as the Italian made his way to the table.

Romano peered down at the cake. It was red velvet with little tomatoes drawn around the edges with icing. The face of the cake had a large tomato on it with a face and a curl sticking out from its stem in the same fashion as his own piece of curled hair, though the image was a bit obscured by some lines that ran through it from cutting the cake. Most of it was still in tact though.

"Hungry," the South Italian finally answered. It felt like forever since he'd eaten anything, and the cake looked damned good.

The group sat in the living room while they ate their cake. The television was kept off, so it was comfortably quiet aside from the clunks and scrapes of forks against plates. After a while, everyone had finished their food and just sat quietly for someone to say something. No one really wanted to break the peace.

It was a long few minutes before Germany finally spoke, and the room soon broke out in a clatter of questions regarding what had happened. But Romano noticed something that seemed to set him aside a bit. His name wasn't mentioned even once, yet they were talking about him. Actually, they were more-so discussing and arguing with each other about what had happened rather than asking him directly. It made him feel uneasy. "Say my name," he thought to himself. "Just say it. Say my name..." His heart was begging to be noticed, wanting to be called _Italy_ for just once in his life. His eyes pleaded.

Prussia and Spain both seemed to notice this and made their way over to him. Romano's mind was brought back to reality when he felt arms around his neck and a hand on his leg. Snapping out of his pondering, he saw the albino kneeling beside his chair and the Spaniard hugging him from behind, both grinning like idiots.

It was reassuring; to know that they cared more about him now than about knowing what had happened before. He felt a warm spread through his body, and his expression softened into a small and thoughtful smile, looking at the Prussian's idiotic one.

Prussia stopped grinning and looked surprised, if not shocked. He stared at Romano almost in wonder, and in return, the Italian and the Spaniard both glanced at him strangely. "You...you smiled," the albino whispered astonishedly.

Spain leaned further forward and turned his head to face Romano. "I-is that true?! Lovi, did you smile?" He stuttered.

Romano's eyes widened a bit, seemingly as surprised as they were...though they both looked more amazed than confused like he was. "May...be...?" he managed in a hushed tone, his voice cracking just a bit and his face flushing red. Before he could react more, he found himself being squeezed by another hug from behind as the Prussia shouted out to everyone that he'd smiled. Spain was giggling wildly.

"I wanna see~! I wanna see~!" the Spaniard whined like a child.

Romano sunk in his seat, his face an even brighter red than before. Soon enough, everyone was crowded around, urging him on to smile again. His lip began to quiver slightly, and he bit down on it to keep it from being noticed. It was a hard moment for him to be put on the spot like this, but he ended up smiling (at their stupidity, he said) in the end.

After everyone had finished cheering him on for smiling, Prussia sat himself on the floor beside the Italian. "Hey, _Italy,"_ he winked, nudging him with his elbow. Romano let out a nearly inaudible gasp and straightened himself at the sound of the name. Prussia looked up at him and grinned cockily. "That was pretty awesome."

**_-THE END-_**

* * *

**Welp. That's it. Sorry for the shitty ending. I was originally going to make this fanfic longer...and have a lot more stuff happen (attempted suicide, for example), but...something came up & I just can't work with this anymore. I need to move on to other stuff. Sorry if you were looking forward to something awesome. Well, I'll have other fanfics soon, so I hope you stick around for them.**

**Thanks again for reading, guys. Hope you enjoyed it.**


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